


Someone Like You

by everlarklane



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Kidnapping, Child Abuse, Concussions, Escaping gang life, Gang Violence, Gen, I wrote this for a class, Injuries to minors, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Pls help the Jackson and Cody, Poor Cody, Poor Pablo, Poverty, Prostitution, References to Drugs, the prompt was gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlarklane/pseuds/everlarklane
Summary: 14 year old Cody Jackson is a member of the Black Cat gang and wants out. This is his chance.But when escaping means being hunted and poverty, what can one fourteen year old do?Luckily he's got friends by his side.





	Someone Like You

Your breath sends rings of smoke through frosted air as you vault over trash cans. The sky is already dusted with reds and bruised purples and you know you have only minutes to lose them before your advantage is lost.

It’s not to hard to lose them; you’re young, fast, and desperate. Everything depends on the little bag clutched in your sweaty fist.  _ They _ can go and hunt other dealers. 

Over the railing, into the alleyway. You land, one hand on the ground, and bolt towards the warehouse. You’ve probably lost them now, but you keep running, fists pumping as you dart through the rapidly cooling fall air. 

You skitter to a stop before the aging metal doors of the warehouse, feet sending up blooms of small stones and a mushroom cloud of dust. Nervous eyes glance over your shoulder. No one. It’s safe. 

Fishing the key from your jacket, you unlock the door and slip inside, locking it again with a soft click. Your feet echo like distant gongs as you pace across the shadowed metal walkway leading into the main building. The light ahead burns like walking indoors on a hot July day. 

“Cody,” you hear a boy hiss. The pair of you are always quiet in here, even though you know no one will hear you. Your eyes adjust to the sudden light as the path beneath you transforms from metal to concrete. 

“Hey Pablo,” you whisper back as he comes into view- all long legs and nervous energy. He’s a little chubby, a bit muscular. Kind of the opposite of you, really. 

“You missed Alec,” Pablo says softly as the both of you reach the center of the high-ceiled room. Fans blew somewhere in the rafters as the ambiance of the room hummed. “Saw him come out while I was waiting.”

“For me?” you whisper, a teasing lilt in your voice. 

“Always,” Pablo replies. “Did you sell everything?”

You swallow hard and you can see Pablo’s face fall to match yours. 

“I….no,” you manage. “I was almost caught by pigs…”

“Cody,” Pablo hisses, hands shaking as he grabs your wrists. “Oscar’s gonna be so pissed.”

“It happens,” you try, ignoring that tendril of fear that’s returned in the absence of adrenalin. “Everyone has slow days, especially when the cops are after you.”

“Do you think Oscar will care?” Pablo hisses. 

No. You don’t. But Pablo will worry and worry until someone stops him so you’ve gotta do right by him and calm him down.

“It’ll be okay,” you shrug. Pablo nods softly, and his hands cease to shake. His eyes still look worried. It kinda hurts how much he trusts you.

“Hello, boys,” a voice sings as the door to the warehouse slams open. You both jump, hands immediately searching for each other for a brief second. In walks Oscar Naste- tall, dark, and nasty. His beady blue eyes immediately catch the bags both of you hold and he strides over, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes. 

“Hand it over, brats,” he says, voice rough from smoking. Immediately, you both comply. You want to back up a step as the twenty one year old shuffles through the bag, but stay planted where you stand. 

“Leave, Pablo,” Oscar says airily as he pockets Pablo’s bag. 

Pablo glances back worriedly at you, but you shake your head. He backs up and walks away, throwing worried glances over his shoulders as the gang leader’s cousin sifts through your bag. 

Oscar pauses for a moment as Pablo’s heavy footfalls fade away. “What is this shit?” 

“I was- I was stopped because pigs caught me-” you squeak, wanting to groan when your voice cracks. You hate puberty and you hate this job. 

“You only sold  _ half _ of it?” Oscar hisses, hand snatching out to grab your sweatshirt collar.  He backs us up a step, and then two and then three as you desperately try to find something to say. 

“They were tipped off about me,” you say as his other hand grabs your shoulder bruisingly. “I tried, but they were on my tail. I had to run to get away-”

“I always said that brats like you aren’t reliable,” Oscar slurred and you suddenly realize he’s a little drunk. “But John never listens huh?”

“Oscar, I tried,” you say. “I’ll sell all of it tomorrow, yeah?” 

For a moment, you both stare at each other- blue into brown, bloodshot into blown pupils. Then he shoves you away. 

You try to catch your balance, but your skittering feet catch on an uneven plank and you fly back, head smacking against something hard as Oscar sits in his chair. Pain blooms across your vision, accompanied by sparks of lightning in your eyes.

“Ow…” you whisper against the tears pressing at your eyes. The world spins as you pick yourself up. 

Oscar doesn’t look at you.

You get up, the warehouse melting and waving around you as you stumble to the door. When you touch the back of your head, it comes back wet. 

“Don’t bleed all over the goddamn floor,” Oscar snaps. “Hurry up.”

You catch a bit of regret and surprise in his voice. It doesn’t really matter. 

Trying to nod is a bad idea, you find out as you near the door and catch yourself on the frame. 

You disappear out into the night.

* * *

 

As dinner simmers on the stove, you down three advil and sit at the table, pouring over your math notes as your head pounds. It’s made worse by the smell of fried fish kept warm by an aluminum foil roof and the rich garlic smell of the chicken noodle soup you made for your brother. You cleaned up your head and you don’t think you’ll need stitches, thank God. You’re not sure how you’d explain that to your brother. 

You get about halfway through the worksheet when the words blur so bad that you struggle not to the throw up. Instead, you stumble to the couch and curl up there, waiting for the nausea to pass. 

Somehow, you find sleep instead.

* * *

 

“Codester,” someone shakes your shoulder. “Codybear. Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open, groaning as the sun burns into your eyes. You mumble something and roll over, curling the blanket around you.

Someone laughs, “Cody, wake up. School time.”

You give up the ghost and throw back the blankets to see Uriah smiling at you, all warm brown eyes marred by early worry lines. He’s only twenty two and yet he’s taken care of you since he was barely more than a child himself. 

“I threw some food in your backpack,” Uriah whispers as you stumble towards the bathroom, incredibly grateful as he presses clothes into your hands. “You looked like you needed sleep.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, careful to hide the cut from view as you disappear into the creaky old bathroom. The walls are peeled and yellow, the faucets rusted nearly shut. You let the water for the shower run for a few long seconds until the water is clear once more and step in, letting the heat ease your aching shoulders and pounding head. 

When you get out of the shower, Uriah is staring at your homework- your unfinished homework.

“Cody-queue, why didn’t you finish your math?” Uriah asks, confused. His eyebrow piercing throws light as he crinkles his eyebrows. 

“Headache,” you mutter. 

“Must have been one hell of one,” Uriah says, worried now. “You aren’t one to slack.” He gently holds your face and takes in your grayish hue and dazed look. “Codes, you sure you don’t want to stay home?”

“I’m okay,” you say. Pablo will freak out if you aren’t at school after being alone with Oscar. You can already see his guilt-stricken face. “Really. I am.” 

“If you’re sure…” Uriah says slowly. “But call if you need to come home, okay? Caspian will come get you.” 

“Mmm,” you say, slinging your backpack onto your skinny shoulder. 

Uriah sighs as he leans back on the kitchen table. “You’re only fourteen, kiddo,” he says and you get the feeling he isn’t really talking to you. “You don’t need to have the whole world on yours shoulders. It’s okay to be sick.” 

“Love you,” you say, unsure how to respond. Your fingers close around the tarnished door knob.

“...love you too, Cody-queue,” Uriah says, watching as you shut the door behind you and jog out into the bright, cold autumn day.

* * *

 

You love math. There is something very easy and clean about the way numbers look on the page and slide through your brain. You can look at a problem and see the answer like an old friend waving from the other side of the room. 

Today though, everything is slow. Your mind feels like syrup as you stare at yesterday’s homework and the scribbles and crinkles, and eraser marks marring its clean surface. 

Mr. Morway’s been eyeing you all hour. If anyone could tell something is wrong with you, it would be him. For whatever reason, he likes you and actually cares what happens to you. To be honest, that’s really rare for Abbingdon South High School. Like the students, teachers tended to float through life like slightly venomous jellyfish- lazy and unmotivated, but still able to give you a nasty sting. 

Your head is pounding and you can taste iron even though you know you aren’t bleeding. The buzzing of the lights kill your head and all you really want to do is put your head down. Fifteen minutes ago, ringing started in your ears like a bratty mosquito and you are suffering in this chilly classroom you normally love. 

“Mr. Jackson, please stay after class,” Morway suddenly says. You jerk your head up and immediately regret it as a wave of nausea and dizziness rush through you.

You somehow manage a strangled, ‘yes sir’ while the class snickers. You give up the ghost and shove your uncompleted homework away and put your head down, trying to steer through the rolling waves of room A284.

The bell rings, piercing through the fuzziness in your brain as Morway crouches beside you, concern written across those bushy white eyebrows. He’s only in his late sixties, but he looks older than that.

“What’s up?” Morway asks as you open one brown eye to stare at him. “I noticed you didn’t turn in your homework and you look a little off. Are you alright?”

“‘M fine,” you mumble, wincing as your head vibrates with the words. 

You both know you’re lying. 

“I think you should see the nurse,” Morway says slowly and panic lances through you.

“No, I can’t!” you say, shooting up in your seat only to sway  _ hard _ and anchor yourself against the sides of the desk. 

“Why not?” Morway says, watching with suspicious eyes. 

You swallow, mouth shutting as Morway seems to age fifty years in front of you. 

“Cody,” he says softly. “This is the third time this month you’ve come to class visibly injured or sick. I know something is going on. I can help.” 

“You can’t,” you whisper, so quietly you’re sure he can’t hear. 

Morway settles back on his heels and you glance away. “I don’t want to see you throw that bright mind away, Cody,” he says and you want to cry because you know you are and you have no choice in it. “I can help.”

You stare at him and then stumble to your feet. You scoop up your backpack and bolt, leaving a startled math teacher and a half-finished homework assignment curling through the air.

You don’t see Morway pick up and stare at the little crinkled sheet.

* * *

 

Mr. Morway’s words stick with you the rest of the day as you meet up with a very concerned Pablo who insists on looking you over. You’ve never been so grateful for the thickness of your curly hair that hides the cut. 

Caleb later swings by, hazel eyes twinkling as he slings his arms around the two youngest members of the gang. He loves showering you in brotherly affection and handing off expensive presents from his estranged CEO father. He’s bright and rebellious and angry as all hell, even though he hides his rage well. His tell is hard to see at first, but unmissable: his smile is just a tad too bright. 

You think Caleb would be really good at running some kind of child care facility if he could ever have his anger under control. He loves accolades and he loves being needed. To him, ‘sponsoring’ a pair of freshman nobodies is a better rush than the cocaine he’s addicted to. 

While chatting to the pair of you, he slips the bag of soft drugs into their pants, face unchanging as he chatters about the date he had with one of the senior girls. Pablo pales when he feels the weight of the drugs, like he always does. You know he hates it. Most of us do. 

Eventually, Caleb bids adieu with a bright fake smile and a promise to hang out next weekend. Despite everything, he’s kind and friendly. 

You weave your way to lunch, hands practiced as you slip drugs into hands in return for cash. It’s been nearly three years since you started. When most eleven year olds were playing video games or mowing lawns, you were learning sleight of hand, cuts of coke, and fine points of supply and demand. 

Drop off done, you and Pablo head outside to sit under a tree, thin, worn jackets pulled tightly around shoulders as you share the lunch Uriah packed you.

Pablo never says anything, but you know he only gets one meal a day without you. Every day is the same- he rejects your offer but you push it to him. You talk, he laughs and slowly, he starts to eat. So you start the routine, push over the extra bag of crackers Uriah packed and the orange. You start to talk about dreams.

He always looks so soft and hopeful when he talks about his dreams. Pablo’s anxious, eternally afraid. It’s nice seeing him sit back on his palms and look up at the slightly cloudy sky and talk about how he’ll escape the gang. It’s a conversation reserved only for you two, kept in whispers. If Saeran or even kind Caleb found out, you know that the leader and worse, Oscar would find out. 

“I want to go to New York,” says Pablo, brown eyes bright with hope. “I want to go to college and I want to leave this stupid city behind.”

“Do you think you can do it?” you ask, and he pauses. These conversations between you two never focused on ‘if’ or ‘how’. But Mr. Morway’s offer sticks in your brain and you can’t quite shake it loose. 

“I don’t know,” Pablo says quietly. The sun falls across his melancholy face, lighting up flecks of gold and hazel within his dark eyes. He curls his big hands into the grass, tearing it up with little creaks as he stares off somewhere you can’t see. “I want to be an editor more than anything,” he says, and then a little slower, “But I know I’d rather die than stay here any longer.”

“Pablo-”

He turns to you, desperate. There is an agony in his eyes that strikes you to the bone as his shirt slips and you see the bruises curled around his dark shoulder. 

“I’m not gonna make it through high school like this,” Pablo says and suddenly you realize that you are both being loud and your heart constricts. “One way or another, Cody. Whether it’s my mother, my brother, some random gang asshole, or my own fucking hand, I’m gonna die. I can’t think about ‘if’ I’m gonna make it to New York; I just gotta know it because what else do I got?”

You know it’s cliche, but you reach out and curl one of his hands in yours. You know that if anyone catches you now, holding a boy’s hand, you’re dead, but you can’t seem to care when Pablo’s there and falling to pieces.

“You’ve got me.”

Pablo lets out a wet laugh, fingers curling tighter around your own. “I guess I do.”

“Uriah would take you in any day,” you say, knowing it’s true. “Say the word. It’s Uriah, Caspian, maybe John, and us against Carlos. He can’t do shit.”

“But the law can,” Pablo says. “They need me to work at the store. They won’t let go free labor.”

You flop back, wincing when your head bounces. For a second, the world spins as you groan. “This sucks.”

“Así es la vida,” Pablo says with a shrug. “Um...Cody?”

“Yeah?” you say, staring up at the clouds. It’s funny. Until you flopped down, you didn’t actually feel the pain in your head. Pablo was a good distraction...

“What...happened with Oscar last night?”

Pablo’s question drags you out of your train of thought. You stay quiet for a second, trying to think of what to say.

“Don’t lie,” Pablo says- actually, begs. “Please.”

“Um…” you say, drawing it out. “He...wasn’t happy. He pushed me around a bit and then told me to leave. That’s it.”

“...you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” You just left out that he knocked you to the ground and cracked your head open. 

“Okay...it’s just...you don’t look good.”

“Trouble sleeping.”

“...okay.”

You sit in silence a little longer, nothing but the wind and the chirping of birds to distract you. Finally, it is Pablo who speaks. He was never very good at handling silence.

“Cody, did you figure out a dream yet?”

“....sort of.”

“What is it?”

“You know it,” you say evasively. It’s a dumb dream and you think you should have something bigger, better, more personal. You know Pablo agrees.

“It’s not-?” says Pablo, then sighs when you don’t move. “Cody, you need a dream beyond making Uriah proud. He _is_ proud of you.”

“He isn’t,” you snap. “He loves me. But how can he be proud? I’m a fourteen year old  _ drug dealer _ and part of gang. It’s the  _ opposite _ of anything he ever wanted for me.” 

“He knows you don’t have a choice,” says Pablo, “no more than I had a choice or hell, even he did! If anything he blames himself for getting you in this mess.”

“It’s not his fault!” you shout, and immediately deflate when you see Pablo flinch away from you. “Pablo…”

He releases the tension in his shoulders and leans forward, a faint blush of red beneath his darkly tan skin as he rubs the back of his head. “No, I should….I know you won’t hit me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, drawing into yourself. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I know better.”

Pablo sighs and flops back into the grass, wrinkling his nose as a piece of grass lands on it. “We’re a mess.” 

You gingerly join him, slowly, so your head doesn’t swim quite so hard. You are so aware of your hands, so close to his, but you don’t grab them. So you lay there, watching clouds with him until the bell rings and you are swept back into normal life and out of this bubble of time. 

You somehow make through the next two classes without incident, unless you count being unable to pay attention due to the rock party going on in his head. At some point after lunch, small flashes of light joined the club and you just want to sleep it off. 

At the beginning of last hour, the intercom clicks on with a crackle. You hear your name and you look up, turning your head against the top of your forearm. 

“Cody, they want you in the guidance office,” the teacher says as the class jeers. You nod and gather your things, but as soon as you leave the classroom, you head straight for the doors and into the painful sun. 

It’s hard to see anything. The sun glares down on you and sends daggers into your brain. You’ve never been more grateful that today is not one of your run days. Thank  _ you _ , Alec and Caleb. 

The walk is only a few miles, but it’s through the roughest parts of Abbingdon and into Daring Park, your borough. In fairness though, the roughest parts of Abbingdon equate to the average block in Daring, so it’s not like it’s anything out of the average. 

Still, it’s enough to keep you as close to on your toes as you can be. Your steps are fast, but not too fast, gait confident, but not too confident. You were taught how to mask and act since you were a baby middle schooler and it comes easily to you now. 

You have a mile left when you notice them follow you.  _ Dog Star.  _

Inside your chest, your blood freezes as you walk faster, the faint outline of your building almost in view. That was a mistake.

In seconds, they are on you, dragging your tiny frame into the nearest alleyway with hands way too big and strong. You thrash, terror lancing through you as they slam you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Money,” one hisses, his breath like rancid alcohol as he shakes you. “I know you have some, you little twink. Where is it?”

“I-I-I d-don’t-” you try, tears coming as another one slams their fist into your stomach. You barely keep from retching as pain blooms through you. 

“Drugs,” the third adds, watching from the side as his friends rough you up. “We know you’re a runner, kid. Where are they?”

“D-don’t have any!” you cry, knowing you look pathetic and struggling to care. “I-I was going  _ home! _ ”

“Check him,” the third says. The one holding him lets him fall as the two feel under your shirt and into your pockets. You tremble but stay still as they finish searching, shame rushing through you as one spits on you. 

“Where’s your backpack?” the second snarls, kicking you. You cry out, curling up protectively as he kicks you again.

“I-I d-dropped it,” you stutter, scared to breathe, scared to move. Dog Star hates you and everyone else in Black Cat, for good reason too. 

“Dumbasses,” the third sighs. “Bruce, check the sidewalk and see if there are drugs.”

He then leans down to you, eyes dark and cold as he grabs your jaw and examines the tears and snot decorating your face. “I always did say that you Black Cats are pussies.” 

The kick that comes next isn’t surprising, but the crack that comes is. You howl, sobbing as you hold your chest, pain throbbing through you. 

“Ain’t shit in his bag,” Bruce shouts from the sidewalk. 

“‘Course,” the third snarls. “Leave the brat. We’ll get one of the others.”

They leave him then, the first only pausing to spit on you again.

It starts to rain.

You cry- at the pain, the fear, the cruel irony of the rain. Somehow, you stumble to your feet despite the pain your head, your chest, your back. You scoop up your backpack and stagger out of the alley, only to fall to your knees and retch into the storm drain. Shoulders shaking, stomach clenching and agonizing as it contracts, you can’t help the hiccups that accompany your tears as you half walk, half stagger towards your apartment building and somehow make it inside and in your room. 

Shaking fingers pry your phone out of you pocket and you call Pablo, but he doesn’t pick up. You hold the phone for a while longer, staring at the time. 

Somehow, class is still going on. They were only attacking you for less than five minutes. 

You fall asleep, phone cradled to your chest.

* * *

 

“Cody, what the hell?”

Your eyes blink open as a frantic Uriah stares at you, hands fluttering as he takes in the bruises beneath your dark skin and the tears still caked on your face. 

“Uriah?” you say softly, crying out in pain as the older man drags you against his chest and then out from him, looking you over.

“What happened?” he demands. “Who did this?”

“...Dog Star,” you say softly. Uriah’s face hardens.

“I knew something like this would happen,” he snarls. “And of course, the cowards that they are, they pick the baby!”

“Not a baby.”

“I know, Codes,” Uriah says absent-mindedly, petting his hair as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “We’re going to the hospital right now-”

“No!”

“Cody, look at you!” Uriah says. “You’re hurt-”

“Nothing bad,” you say. “They just broke a rib, nothing else-”

“Cody, that’s a big deal!” Uriah says, anxiety filling his voice. “What if it pierced your lung- what if-”

“I’d already be dead,” you say. “They jumped me on my way home.” 

“Codester, we should still-”

“We can’t afford it,” you snap. Uriah falls silent. “You broke ribs all the time in high school, playing sports. We know how to treat it. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay…” says Uriah. “But you aren’t going anywhere without someone with you, okay? Caspian is off work this week, so he’ll walk you to school.”

“Not a baby.”

Uriah groans, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I know, sweetie. But they’ve gone after you once. Who’s to say they won’t again?” 

“Okay,” you say, unable to stand up against your brother. 

He hugs you and before you can get up to make dinner, he pushes you down softly.

“Rest,” he says. “You need it.”

“Uriah-”

“I’ll wake you up when Caspian gets here,” says Uriah. “He knows how to check ribs and wrap them up better than either of us.”

You try to stay awake in protest, but soon enough you fall asleep to the sounds of sizzling meat and running water. 

“He said it was Dog Star?” 

“Said it was Bruce and two others.”

“Bastards.”

You open your eyes to Caspian and Uriah kneeling beside the couch. A strand of golden brown hair masks the former’s green eyes as he smiles at you.

“Hey monster,” he says, voice melodic and sweet. “I’m going to check your ribs, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper, the words sending agony through your chest. The adrenalin wore off. 

“I still think we should go to the hospital,” Uriah says softly. 

“I’d agree,” Caspian says, frowning, “but I  _ know  _ you can’t afford it. Not without leaving both of you homeless and even more vulnerable to those dogs. I’d offer my home, but…”

They both glance at you and immediately guilt joins the pressure on your chest even though both of them would fall over themselves to abscond you of guilt should you say anything. 

“Red light district is no place for a kid,” Uriah grunts as you accidentally let out a whine. Caspian prodded exactly where the pain was radiating most from.

“Found the break,” says Caspian. “From what I can feel, it’s only cracked, not broken. Keep an eye on him though. If he gets worse, get him to the hospital. We’ll figure out how to pay somehow.” 

“Caleb!” 

They both startle, glancing down at you. 

“They said something about finding another one of us,” you say. “I just remembered. Caleb and Alec- they could be in danger.”

“I’ll call Caleb and Jace,” Uriah says, pushing himself to his feet. 

“I’ll call the Torres to see if Carlos and Pablo got home,” Caspian added. “Cody, don’t move. I’m going to get you some ice and pain meds.”

“But-”

Caspian gives you a stink eye and you shut up. He would never hurt you, but his sad, puppy-dog eyes could melt the coldest heart and inspire eternal guilt. 

“He hasn’t come home?” Uriah’s surprised voice comes from your bedroom. “You sure he isn’t just running late on a run?”

Immediately, guilt and fear rush through you as Caspian rummages through the freezer for something to use as an ice pack. You should have told Uriah before you fell asleep. If something happened to the others…

“Here, kiddo,” Caspian says, wrapping a bag of peas in a cloth and handing it to you. You place it on your ribs, where it burns for a few seconds. Caspian then stands and leans against the wall as he dials a number.

You stare at your fingers, head swimming with both pain and fear. You can’t calm down until you know everyone is safe.

“Thanks, Jace. Tell Alec hello for me and make sure he knows to keep an eye out,” you hear Caspian finish and a bit of anxiety peels away, even as Uriah comes back into the room, rubbing his eyes.

“Alec is home,” says Caspian. “He managed to outrun the Dog Stars.” 

“Thank god,” Uriah mutters, sitting down on the other end of the couch from you. “Caleb never came home.”

Your stomach drops. 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Caspian says, swearing as he begins to pace. “He’s a teenager, but he usually calls his mom if he’s staying out late.”

“He could be high,” Uriah offers.

“Doesn’t make me feel better!”

“Pablo?” you say, making both of them swing their heads back to him. “Is...is Pablo okay?”

“Haven’t called him yet,” Uriah says, glancing at Caspian, who shakes his head. 

“I’ll call Carlos,” Caspian offers and Uriah nods. Slowly, while both men are distracted, you push yourself up and wrap your arms around your aching ribs. 

After a few seconds, Uriah’s arm falls to his side, finger absently stabbing the ‘end call’ button. “He didn’t pick up…”

“Hey Carlos,” asks Caspian. “Has Pablo come home…”

Uriah seems to notice the guilt swirling through you and gently wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly, brushing the top of your forehead. “Okay?”

“I-if I had told you right away…”

“I didn’t exactly give you the chance,” says Uriah. “Besides, you were hurt and stressed. I don’t blame you for forgetting.”

“I still feel like it’s my fault.”

Uriah sighs and runs a hand through your hair. “I know, baby. But it’s not, I promise. Things will be okay.”

“Not a baby,” you mutter quietly into his chest. It rumbles as he laughs, hand pausing in your hair. 

“Not a baby,” he agrees, this time with the slightest tinge of sadness. 

Across the room, Caspian swears loudly, startling both of you. 

“I know you don’t give a damn about Pablo, but  _ Jesus _ , Carlos, at least pretend to care about him,” Caspian snarls. “So you haven’t seen him since this morning?”

“Uriah-” you say, voice rising. 

“Relax, Codybear,” Uriah says, pulling his fingers through your hair as you both eavesdrop. 

“Joder, Carlos,” Caspian says, slipping into Spanish as anger fills his voice. “Ayúdanos a encontrarlo, gilipollas. Caleb es que falta demasiado.” Pause. “Why should you care? ¡Es su hermano!”

“I’m going to get you some meds,” Uriah says, withdrawing his hand from your hair. “Sit tight, okay?”

You want to scream that nothing could be alright if Pablo’s missing- and you know enough 

Spanish to know that Pablo’s gone. But instead you just nod and curl up harder despite your ribs crying out for mercy. 

Soon enough, Uriah is back by your side while Caspian spits Spanish into the phone. He hands you a plastic cup filled with water and a few pills. You swallow and lean against him as you watch Caspian hang up the phone.

“The Torros haven’t seen Pablo either,” says Caspian with a sigh. “I convinced Carlos to  call Saeren, John, and the others to search. I said that you were going to stay and watch Cody, since he was attacked too, but I’m going to join them.”

“Caspian!”

“What?” Caspian says. “Pablo’s barely older than Cody and you know as well as I did that 

he is about enthused about being in the gang as Cody is. I’m not leaving him to get killed by those sickos, not when none of us were the ones that killed Jay.” 

“Stay safe then,” Uriah snaps. “Don’t be a hero, Caspian. We need you.”

Caspian’s mouth quirked up a little. “I will be. Make sure Cody-bean gets some sleep,  yeah?”

“I will,” Uriah says. “Be careful.”

“Will do.”

Caspian swept out of the room, door squeaking shut behind him. 

“Okay, you are going to sleep in a bed tonight, monkey,” Uriah says, lifting you. You 

squeak, arms flailing as he seemingly effortlessly lifts your fourteen year old frame into the air. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“But!”

“Hey,” Uriah warns with a grin as he gently settles you on your bed. “I want my couch back, thanks.”

You stick out your tongue and he laughs, though the shadows in his eyes remain firmly in place. Both of you fall quiet.

“How can I sleep?” you finally say. 

“Meds should help,” Uriah says with a shrug. “As well as exhaustion and trauma.” 

You glare at him but he just shrugs. “At least try to sleep, Codybear.” 

“...I will.”

He smiles at you and begins to shut the door. He flicks off the light and whispers goodnight.

Somehow, you fall asleep.

* * *

 

If the day before was bad, today is worse. Instead of just your head aching, now your ribs and back scream with every movement. Even breathing sends arrows of pain through your ribs. 

You move through the hallways slowly, barely making it to class hour after hour. All you can think of is your silent phone and the missing presence of Pablo. 

Halfway to your next class, you feel the tell-tale tickle of a sneeze build up in your nose and dread rushes through you. Before you can even try to suppress it, you’re on the ground, ribs screaming as the sneeze slams through your ribcage like an explosion. 

“Cody?!”

Big hands wrap around your shoulders and you flinch away, hand cradling your ribs as someone calls your name. 

“Cody, what’s wrong?”

You open your eyes to see Mr. Morway kneeling beside you as the bell rings. Your eyes slide away as he looks you over. You pick at your shirt as you struggle to get your breath back, pain slicing through you with each gasp. 

“I’m okay.”

“Cody, we both know that’s not true,” says Morway and you can’t help but look into matching brown eyes. For a brief moment, you can only see deep concern and care. “Cody, are you really okay?”

To your horror, you burst into tears, each sob jostling your ribs more as the man suddenly is left with a pile of crying fourteen year old. One hand awkwardly rises to pat your shoulder as your tears worsen from pain. 

Beneath it all, you hear him quietly call for help from the principal as he rubs your shoulder, asking what’s wrong. 

“P-Pablo and C-Caleb are missing,” you sob, “a-an- and l-last night, the-the guys w-we think did it attacked me and now I’m crying and everything hurts and it’s my fault because I couldn’t tell them in time and I can’t stop  _ crying  _ and I’m so scared and I’m a coward and I don’t know what to  _ do- _ ”

“Okay, okay,” Morway says, looking out of his depth as the principal joins you. “We will go talk to the nurse and liaison officer, alright? We’re going to help you and your friends.”

“O-okay,” you gasp, struggling to your feet with the help of Morway and the principal, a tall, young Black man who looks a lot like your father before he died. 

Somehow, you stumble to the health office, where the nurse, Mrs. Sanchez, bustles you into a private room and evaluates you. She gives you another ice pack and leaves to call your brother.

_ “...probable concussion, possible broken or cracked rib…” _

The liaison officer, principal, and Mr. Morway enter the room. 

“Hello, Cody,” says Eliza Yarrow, the liaison officer, a blonde woman only a few younger than Principal Johnson. “What is going on?”

“I-um,” you say, suddenly stalling now that you’ve calmed down from...whatever that was. 

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Morway suggests. “What happened?”

You stare at your hands, letting your feet kick the back bar of the bed. “I went home yesterday and I was jumped by some guys in a gang. I didn’t have what they wanted but they said that they would get some of the others. Then Pablo- Pablo Torres- and Caleb Markelle never got home.”

“Why do you think it’s related?” says Yarrow. “That is, Pablo and Caleb’s disappearances?”

You bite your lip. You know that you can all get in big trouble if it’s revealed you are connected to a gang. 

“Cody, we can’t help unless you tell us the full truth,” Yarrow says gently. 

“I can’t,” you say, the tears pushing again at the back of your eyes. “I can’t.” 

“Cody-”

“Please,” you beg. “It was the Dog Star gang. They took them. Please. I can’t- I can’t say anything else, I swear. Please…”

“Okay, Cody,” says Yarrow. “Sit tight. We’re going to talk to your brother and start looking for these boys, okay?”

You nod.

Mr. Morway catches Johnson’s shoulder and whispers something. Johnson nods and suddenly, you’re left in the room with the older man.

“Cody…” he says softly. “I know you’re in over your head and I know you’re hurt and afraid. So….if you need to talk or need anything, please come to me. I know we aren’t supposed to have favorites, but you are one of mine. I would hate to see anything more happen to you.”

You nod slowly and he leaves, leaving the door open a crack. Light spills through and you lie down, curling on your none-broken side as you try and fail to find sleep.

* * *

 

Caspian takes you home while Uriah talks to the police. When you get there, you realize you’ve run out of pain medication. Caspian tells you to lock the door and call him immediately if anyone comes knocking and goes to fetch more. 

You’re left alone, so you try (and fail) to do homework, calling Pablo’s phone every few minutes until a knock breaks the silence.

You jump, barely holding back a cry as your ribs scream. Cautiously, you slide over to the door to peek through the hole in the wall.

It’s John and Oscar. 

The door unlocks with a click and suddenly they are inside and you realize you forgot to call Caspian.

“I didn’t snitch,” you say before they can say anything. “I didn’t.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t say you did.”

“Came to warn you,” Oscar growls and you already know he suspects you. “We don’t need you or your brother, kid. Keep that in mind before you buddy up to those pigs, feel me?”  
You nod anxiously as John rises. 

“Oscar, you handle this,” says John with a shrug. “You know more about the situation than I do.”

“With pleasure,” Oscar simpers as the man disappears out the door. The second it snaps shut, Oscar is on you, slamming you into the wall. 

You scream, ribs protesting the move as he glares you down with beady blue eyes. 

“I know you snitched,” Oscar snarls, hand moving up to close around your throat. “Not everything, and that’s why you ain’t gonna die today. If this gang is broken, I’ll kill you myself, savvy?”

You scrabble at his hands as they tighten around your throat. You can’t speak, can’t think, can’t feel anything but the thirst for oxygen and the vicious pain sending sparks of lightning through your vision. 

Oscar drops you and you crumple, drooling and hacking as your ribs scream and lungs work over time to replace the oxygen you lost out on. 

“Don’t snitch,” he reminds you as he slams the door shut behind him. 

You sit on the ground where he dropped you a little longer, massaging your throat as you try to rid yourself of the dizziness and nausea sending your stomach and head through rough waves. 

Oscar left you with one more thing though:

The realization that half his friends were missing and the other half were in danger. 

You can’t stay quiet any longer. 

Not when Pablo could die.

* * *

 

Caspian gets home and you tell him everything. He’s mad, but not at you. For awhile, he’s thinks of what you said and agrees that you should tell the police what you know without giving everything away.

Only, Uriah calls and says they found Caleb. Or rather, Caleb’s body. And Pablo.

The ride to the hospital is fast and bumpy as Caspian speeds and you pretend that each bump doesn’t jostle your ribs. 

Because Pablo is a kidnapping victim, he was granted his own temporary room while the police try to sort out what happened. After an agonizing wait, you are allowed to see him.

He looks small in the bed- and you know that’s cliche- and tired. His big frame is diminished somehow by the bandage covering his lower left cheek and the cast around his arm. He’s sleeping. 

You don’t wake him up, but simply sit by him, holding his uninjured hand. At some point Uriah and Caspian arrive and join you in your silent vigil until a nurse comes in to check on her patient.

She immediately spots the fresh bruises around your neck and drags you off to be checked out, throwing a dirty look at Uriah as she goes. 

You’re taken to another room, this one white and made to take off your shirt. You try to explain that it wasn’t Uriah, but they are too busy taking pictures. A social worker comes in and it is then that you finally snap and shout that Uriah would never hurt you, that it was a friend and “some stupid gang”. You don’t say another word. 

They put some salve on you and leave you alone. Uriah is finally allowed to see you. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Cody-queue,” Uriah says, looking too old. “I think we should tell the police.”

“But didn’t we-?”

“Not everything.”

Your throat constricts. “They’ll kill us,” you whisper.

“Not if we ask for protection,” he counters. “We’ll be informants, Codester. There’s laws to help protect us.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, baby,” Uriah says softly. “I got us into this mess. I’ll get us out of it. I promise.”

“‘Snot your fault.”

“Sorta is,” Uriah replies with a sad laugh. “There were other ways. At the time, I didn’t think I had a choice, but I did. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Uriah,” you say. “...has Pablo woken up yet?”

“He has,” Uriah says, ruffling your tight curls. “More drama though: Pablo accidentally revealed what his family does to him.”

You perk up. “Does that mean he doesn’t have to live with them anymore?”

“Hopefully not,” says Uriah. “We’ll find out what the courts say. I offered to take him in.”

“Thank you,” you whisper and Uriah cards his hand through your hair.

“No problem, baby.”

“Not a baby.”

You sit in comfortable silence for several minutes, the only sound being the soft swish of Uriah’s hand through your hair as you wait for the pain meds to kick in. 

“You sure you want to go through with this?” Uriah finally says. “Caspian’s okay with it, but I know it’s a big change, and you’ll be leaving all your friends…”

“I want out,” you whisper. “I know it’s selfish…”

“Not at all,” Uriah says. “Then I’ll talk to the police. Leave it all to me, okay?”

You hum a response and fall asleep against his chest as the day drags on into night.

* * *

 

The next day is filled with police, interrogations, and stress. You’re tired, your brain hurts, and all you want is to sleep off the pain from...well, everything. You’re released from the hospital, but you stay with Pablo, who is supposed to be released later that day into protective custody. Carlos came in high and drunk that morning, ranting about Pablo and threatening to hurt him. There is no way Pablo is going home any time soon and no way you’ll leave him alone, not when he was so recently kidnapped because of you. 

You learn that they killed Caleb partially on accident and partially in revenge and that they had no idea what to do with Pablo afterwards. They’d settled on keeping him in a padlocked shed.

You tell him about Oscar, about the gang. You don’t talk about Caleb or death. 

Later that day, Uriah tells them what’s up. Their final escape group is them, Caspian, and Uriah. While Pablo’s guardianship is decided and his parents and Carlos go on trial for child abuse and in Carlos’ case, drug possession, they’ll be placed out of their old high school and into a new one while Uriah and Caspian remain undercover until they get custody of Pablo or Pablo is emancipated. 

To your utter shock, Mr. Morway shows up and acts as a character witness for you. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he floors everyone in the room by revealing that he will pay your tuition at a nearby private school. 

Morway had no surviving children and no living relatives. He was rich for the area and could easily pay for your high school tuition, if you accept it. His only price is dinner once a week with you all. 

You agree.

* * *

 

“Why is chem so  _ hard _ ,” Pablo groans, flopping across his bed. His groan deepens as his chemistry book flops to the ground. 

“Why did you take advanced chem anyway?” you ask, flipping through your calculus textbook. 

“Looked interesting,” Pablo sighs, glaring at his fallen textbook. “Deceiving bastard.”

You can’t stop the laughter spilling from your lips.

Nearly three years had passed since the worst day of your life. After nearly a year of battling the courts, Uriah snatched Pablo’s custody. Morway showed up for dinner at least three times a week while Caspian and Uriah attended night school on scholarship. 

Not everything was good though. Both men were stuck on a form of house arrest and they’d nearly ended up homeless when Uriah was forced to quit his job. There was always the worry that somehow one of their old gang or the Dog Stars would find them and try to extract revenge, but for now?

Life was good. Life was mounds of homework, but dinner waiting at home. Life was rough classes and sunshine and Pablo’s presence at his side. It was no bruises, no concussions, no fractures. 

There was hope. 

Caspian calls you down to dinner and you both tumble your way through the hallway, laughing and pushing playfully as you help set the table and let “Uncle” Morway in. 

“Oh yeah!” you say a little ways in. “I’ve decided on a major.” 

“Finally!” Pablo says with a grin. 

“What is it, Cody?” Morway asks.

You turn and smile right at him. “Teaching.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my AP English 12 final project. We had to take an element from a story we read.


End file.
